


frosting smear

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Cake, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Lucky the Dog - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Clint raises a brow and Bucky kisses him, turns in his grasp, and tickles his fingers up Clint’s ribs before gently nudging him back. He points to the table, and a small candle flickers on a cake that’s a little smashed. Clint leans down to read it, and then he laughs, loud even to his broken ears. “Happy Clives?”





	frosting smear

Clint bolts up in bed, completely deaf and uncertain as to what woke him. He reaches instinctively for the knife half tucked under Bucky’s pillow. 

He frowns, noting how cold the sheets are. Clint leans up on an elbow, shivering as the wind from the open window hits his bare chest and glances around, squinting at the alarm clock. It needs new batteries and he might need glasses. Its 12:04 am and he really only went to bed, Clint pauses trying to count. 

He gives up, cause it might’ve been thirty minutes ago or it might have been 12 hours. Either way it wasn’t enough and he’s sweaty and where the fuck is Bucky and why the hell is he awake. 

He slaps around for his hearing aids and manages to find one. There’s noise, muffled and distorted, in the kitchen and Clint tightens his fingers around Bucky’s knife. He slips, quiet as he can out of bed, but he feels his joints popping. 

The noise in the kitchen pauses, and Clint holds still. Then the faucet is running and he can hear water hitting the bottom of Bucky’s dumb kettle, and Clint slips forward. 

There’s only the light from the street filtering through the half-blinds, but Clint smiles. 

Lucky is curled around Bucky’s feet, eyes half-lidded and tail lazy. He can’t exactly see what Bucky is doing, but he can hear the off-balance cursing, and see him licking his fingers. 

He watches as Bucky pulls a plate down, and two mugs. Clint bites his thumb to keep himself from snorting, because  _ of course _ Bucky picks the stupid, rainbow-dust unicorn and the freaking mermaid mugs. But Bucky is picky about the tea and Clint can’t tell exactly what he chooses, but he has a guess. 

For a long time Clint just watches Bucky move. He’s relaxed here, jeans slung low on his hops and no shirt. His arm, his  _ metal _ arm is on display in a way it normally isn’t. Clint tracks the scars, the way the skin moves and the way his muscles ripple. He thinks Bucky’s humming but he only has one aid in and the battery must be dying. 

Clint waits until Bucky has set the mugs on the table, orange and cinnamon and something sweet floating in the air, to make his move. He’s not quiet, not with his stiff knees and his aching shoulder, but Bucky doesn’t turn. He doesn’t even flinch when Clint wraps his arms around his chest, kisses the bump at the top of his spine, the metal-flesh mountain range, just under his ear. 

“You left?” Clint asks. 

Bucky says something, and Clint tickles fingers under his chin and turns his head. Bucky smiles at him. He moves his fingers, slow and purposeful.  _ I have a surprise. _

Clint raises a brow and Bucky kisses him, turns in his grasp, and tickles his fingers up Clint’s ribs before gently nudging him back. He points to the table, and a small candle flickers on a cake that’s a little smashed. Clint leans down to read it, and then he laughs, loud even to his broken ears. “Happy Clives?”

Bucky gives him a sheepish grin and a small shrug. He reaches for Clint’s ear, trying to turn the volume up. It works, enough. “The only place doing cakes this late ain’t exactly known for hiring the smartest.” 

“You got me a cake at midnight?” Clint asks, a little in awe. 

Bucky ducks his head and kicks at the tile. “Well, yeah. Sorry ‘bout the frosting smear. Some kid got handsy when I was bringin’ it home.” 

“He okay?” Clint asks, even as he drags his finger through the pink smear. He licks it, and the buttery strawberry flavor is  _ good. _ His face must show it because Bucky flushes. 

“Kid is fine. Might need to change his underwear but still. Sorry they can’t spell or decorate for shit, but they know how to bake,” he says, almost too quiet. 

“Where’s this place?” Clint demands, hip-checking Bucky to the side so he can grab a forkful. “Jesus, Buck, you keepin’ the best stuff all to yourself?” 

Bucky prods Clint into a seat and hands him a slice a size that would make Steve frown. “It’s not in the best of places and you know how some of the others can get. ‘Sides, Elodie makes good food and I get free stuff just by not breaking shit.” 

And yeah, Clint can see why Bucky doesn’t want the whole Avengers squad crashing the joint. 

For a few moments, they eat cake and drink tea and bask in the summer air. Bucky snuffs the candle with his flesh fingers, just because he can. Clint kicks at Bucky’s feet, scraping his toes over Bucky’s just to watch him shiver. “So why’d you leave me cold in bed to get cake in the middle of the night? Damn good cake,” Clint says, “but still.” 

Bucky’s head tilts forward, hair curtaining his face the way he does when he’s trying to maintain his stoicism. Clint kicks his ankle gently, nudges his calf until Bucky looks at him. “I wanted to be the first person to wish you happy birthday. And I know the other’s are gonna have fancy gizmos and tech and whatever, but I dunno,” Bucky bites his thumb, picks at the skin. “Cake is good for birthdays. It was supposed to say ‘Happy Birthday Clint,’ you know.” 

Bucky goes to keep talking but Clint pushes the cake and half-clambers across the table to kiss him, hard and sweet and strawberry flavored. “You remembered my birthday before me,” He says, kissing the stupid beard Bucky won’t shave and Clint secretly loves. 

Bucky digs his fingers into Clint’s hip, hides his face in his neck. “I kinda cheated, and set a reminder on my phone,” He runs his nose along Clint’s neck. “Or, had Stark do it. Seriously, prepare yourself for later.” 

Clint sighs heavily, only a little meaning it, and tugs and Bucky’s hands. “Guess we’d better get s’more sleep then?” 

Bucky nods, follows him into their room and kicks off his jeans. He lets Clint get settled first, then wraps around him tight. Lucky curls around their feet, probably the most grateful to be getting back to sleep at this point. 

“Happy Clives,” Clint whispers. 

Bucky bites his shoulder. 


End file.
